


Wench Soup

by bearsofair



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 02:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsofair/pseuds/bearsofair
Summary: Ashwritesstuff prompted me with the word "soup" for the Friday Fast Fic Challenge.Brienne is feeling a bit under the weather. Jaime makes things better.





	Wench Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isola_Caramella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isola_Caramella/gifts), [ashwritesstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashwritesstuff/gifts).



With an exasperated groan Brienne fumbled for yet another tissue off her nightstand, in a desperate effort to relieve some of the pressure in her impossibly stuffy nose. She checked her phone. She’d slept for most of the day, and now it was evening.

Brienne glanced around her bedroom, disgusted with the germy state of things. Cold medicine on her nightstand, used tissues strewn across her bed covers, and her humidifier whirring away in the corner. Nursing a cold was not her idea of an enjoyable weekend. And even worse, she had been forced to cancel plans with her boyfriend, Jaime.

Earlier when Brienne had texted him telling him not come, he seemed understanding enough, reassuring her they’d reschedule their movie and dinner plans for a day when she was feeling better. Then he told her he loved her and made her promise him she’d get some rest.

She couldn’t help but wallow in a bit of self-pity while she lay there in bed. She’d be missing an evening out with Jaime, which would inevitably end with the two of them back at either his place or hers, scarcely able to keep their hands off each other before they even made it through the door.

Just then Brienne’s phone vibrated. It was another text from Jaime.

“Hey, I’m here," it read. "I’ll let myself in. Stay in bed, and don’t worry about a thing. That’s an order, wench!”

Brienne scowled at Jaime’s insistence on calling her by that ridiculous nickname, the origin of which she couldn’t even remember. But she was even more confused as to why he was here after they had canceled plans.

From her bedroom she could hear Jaime coming through her front door and making his way to her kitchen with rustling shopping bags. Her curiosity got the better of, and she had half a mind to tell him to leave so he wouldn’t catch her cold.

Brienne gathered her strength and shuffled her way out of her bedroom, squinting in the kitchen light. Jaime’s back was to her and he was busily fussing away at the stove. Her intentions to make him leave faltered once she saw him standing there, ridiculously handsome and completely absorbed in whatever he was doing.

“Jaime?” she tried to say, but it only came out as a croak. Somehow Jaime heard her and spun around with a knowing grin.

“How was it I knew you wouldn’t follow orders, you stubborn wench?” he said with dancing green eyes and a smile that sent her heart racing. In that moment Brienne became keenly aware that her own physical state was less than stellar. She must look an awful mess. Jaime paid no mind. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her around and began marching her back to her bedroom.

“Jaime, I-”

“Not, another word, wench.” He was ignoring her protests, and he wasn’t satisfied until he had her back in bed with her covers tucked up to her neck.

“Now, relax.” he said. “It might not be the date night we had in mind, but it’s a date night nonetheless. I’ll be back in a bit, wench,” he said closing the door.

“My name is Brienne!” she managed to call out hoarsely.

She heard Jaime laughing in the hallway. “Quiet, wench!”

Brienne must have drifted off for awhile. The next thing she knew, Jaime was at her bedside, flicking on the lamp on her nightstand, while balancing a tray against his hip.

“Dinner is served, my lady.”

She sat up, and he immediately situated the tray across her lap. It’s contents consisted of a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, a cup of cherry jello, a glass of ginger ale, and a single red rose.

“You made me soup!” she beamed. The simple gesture touched her deeply. The fact he cared enough to come see her and make her feel better, germs and all, made her fall in love with him just a bit more.

“Not just any soup. _Wench_ soup,” he said matter of factly as he made his way to the other side of the bed and made himself comfortable.

“Wench soup?”

“Take a closer look.”

On further inspection, Brienne realized the soup contained pasta alphabet shapes, and strategically arranged on the spoon was the word, “wench.”

“Really, Jaime?” she said with a smirk and a roll of her eyes.

“Really, wench,” he said leaning in and kissing her fully on the lips.

“What are you doing? You’ll catch my cold!” she said pulling away.

“Well, I guess you’ll be making me soup next time. Although I don’t think ‘wench soup’ suits me as well at it does you. Now maybe ‘ruggedly handsome soup,’ or ‘half-a-god soup,’ would work. What do you think?”

“Jaime, you’re an idiot,” she said with a laugh.

“Idiot soup it is,” he said as he leaned in and kissed her again.


End file.
